Take That
by urbanamore
Summary: So I'm probably the only person to write a Take That fic ever. Pretty random, backstage at a gig, possible Robbie Williams/Gary Barlow if I ever write that much more and if I'm in the mood. Rated T for language.


I sat down. My palms were shaking. I felt sick. I had already thrown up earlier. I took my cigarette packet out of my jean pocket and extracted one, putting it in between my lips and lighting it. It took me four attempts before the flame actually ignited the cigarette and I puffed thankfully on it, relieving my stress by a smidgen.

I could hear the others walking around, getting ready. They didn't get stage fright like I did; they didn't get as tense and nervous. I was better when they were around, bustling like old ladies and calming me. It was worse when it was just me, and I would have to drag myself up onto the stage, it getting harder each time.

That's partly why I had broke. And partly why I had returned here. That, and Gary. The others, they were friends, I liked them, I remembered them from my past. But Gary, Gazza hafd always been my best friend, the one who I could even slightly talk to. Even though we had no time to talk about anything back then, Gaz would find some time for me. It might not have been much, and it might not have kept me there, but it held me there a lot longer than I would have if it wasn't for him. And it was what had brought me back again.

As he entered the room I embraced him and took the cigarette from my mouth, blowing smoke rings past his back.

"That's gross, Rob." He scolded lightly, for as little as he liked it, he knew it was my only way of coping, and was hell of a lot better than things I had done in the past.

At that point Jason entered and lingered for a second, eyeing the cigarette longingly before leaving again.

Gary shot me an accusing look but put a hand on my arm for a second, reassuring me that things would be okay. He then left through the door to sort things and I was alone once again in the room.

I stubbed my cigarette out on the wall and shoved the stump back into the packet. I sat down.

I breathed deeply. I had to calm myself. But it was like the calm before the storm. I knew that before long I would be out there with a million or more screaming people, expecting something utterly amazing, which in my opinion I really wouldn't be able to give them. I was an average guy, despite what anybody else thought. And there was so much I couldn't do because I was in the limelight. So much that I was expected to live up to and become, to shine and not make a wrong step anywhere. Well, I had fucked that right up.

Gary came in again, shutting the door softly. He sat opposite me.

"What's up Rob, eh?" he asked in a soothing tone.

"Gaz, I just...how can you go out there every night feeling so sure of yourself? The fear builds inside me until I feel practically immobile."

"And that's why I'm here," he said, reaching out and putting his hand on my shoulder, "to push you out there. Because once you ARE out there, then you feel amazing. You can't deny that, Rob, I've seen the look on your face. The look you give me. You love it."

"I may love it, but the fact is my brain tells me the opposite of that. It's getting out there. It's like the view at the top of a mountain. Once you're up there, it's beautiful, but getting up there is the hard part."

"But you manage it. Every time. Because I'm here to help you, to pull you up if you can't, Rob."

I looked at my friend, my best friend, and I was so thankful that this time around there was time for this. It was what kept me sane. Last time around, if and when I had felt like this, I had been told there was 'no time' and to 'get over it' and that 'it would sort itself out, nerves were natural', blah blah blah.

But it was more than that and I knew it, because no one else got like this. It wasn't natural. It was me. There was something wrong with me. But Gary pulled me through it, because he was a true friend.

A crew members head appeared around the side of the door, "Ten minutes, lads."

I stepped off stage, covered in sweat. I could still hear the screaming from beyond the stage, which I had now left behind. My first thought was to take out a cigarette but I was with the others and I knew Gary didn't like it, and I was on such a high that I could do without it for the time being.

I couldn't remember how I had gotten up on stage. My mind blanked it out, like it did every time, to stop myself being able to get over the fear. I had some vague feeling that Gary had literally pulled me up the stairs onto the stage, but I knew that as soon as I had been hit by the sounds and the presence and the feeling, that I had been okay. That was what my brain allowed me to remember.

It was screaming the words, it was feeling them, it was hearing everyone singing along with them that made it special.

Singing along with words that I had written, that my messed up brain had formed and made into sense, strings of syllables that sounded good with the chords they had been put with.

We, all five of us, sat down on the floor just outside the back door in the cold night air and started to laugh. It was the feeling of the concert and the realisation that you were loved for whatever crazy reason that hit you after things like this that made you feel that way.

"Well done, guys." Jason said, grinning.

"I think we did- I think we did pretty well." I said.

"I couldn't have put it better." Gaz laughed, the rest joining in with the noise.

"So, where to now?" Mark asked, closing his eyes in the dark street.

"I don't even know. Are we..." I started, waiting for someone else to talk.

"We have to get up early tomorrow," Gary said, looking at me, "You guys can go ahead if you want, but I'm going to have as early a night as I can get."

"I...I'll come back with you then."

It wasn't a blow as such, but I wouldn't have minded going out to 'celebrate', as it were. I knew Gaz was always worried, but I wasn't and never had been an alcoholic. I just liked a drink, and I reckoned most of them did too.

I pulled the half finished cigarette from the pack and lit it up, inhaling deeply. Mark looked at me and I offered him one. He accepted it and I chucked him the lighter. We, five forty something year old men, sat opposite each other in a dark, cold alley behind a concert stadium, laughing and joking for hours. It was amazing how we could do it so much more now that we were so much older.


End file.
